


The Games They Play

by AFey



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: Three unrelated one-shots exploring different Mirandy ideas.





	1. Treasure Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> This first story mostly follows the plot of the movie, except for the obvious divergences.
> 
> Any recognisable dialogue is in italics and is clearly not my invention.

Amidst a flurry of coats and handbags the game begins.

She doubts Miranda sees it as a game. Her boss is merely used to having her every whim fulfilled. But for Andy there needs to be a purpose. And the only way not to feel like an unappreciated lackey is to treat the whole experience like a game. A challenging, frustrating game.

_“Where's that piece of paper I had in my hand yesterday morning?”_

Eventually Andy finds it. She does her best to smooth out the wrinkles. To her eyes there's nothing remarkable about its content. Just a few dot points about a layout that's already been dismissed, along with the responsible employee. Its insignificance is confirmed when Miranda briefly glances at it and says, “I don't want that.”

“ _Get me the little table that I liked at that store on Madison.”_

She tracks down the store and the owner points out the table. She can see its beauty, but frankly it doesn't seem to be Miranda's taste at all. Granted she is yet to prove she's ‘ _not a total psycho’_ and so hasn't seen the townhouse. However, if the _Runway_ offices are anything to go by the table is distinctly non-Priestly. Still, she knows better than to directly question her boss's instructions.

“Book me tickets for that off Broadway play with the good reviews.”

Andy vacillates between tickets for _Machiavelli_ and _25 Questions for a Jewish Mother_. She chooses the former and figures the lack of derision is a good sign.

“Make reservations for that restaurant Patrick is obsessed with.”

Of course it turns out there are three possible restaurants to choose from. She rings them all to get an idea of their menus. When she hears about the Boeuf Grillé at Per Se the decision is made. The slight nod she receives after she delivers the news is cause for relief.

The weeks pass. Miranda constantly demands and Andy continually procures.

They establish an exhausting to and fro that only a force of nature disrupts. With her boss trapped in Florida, Andy discovers that miracle worker is officially part of her job description. To cope with the frustration of failure, she directs all her hate towards the so called ‘Sunshine State’.

Upon her return Miranda is quietly vicious, conveying her disappointment with measured scorn. Somehow it hurts more than yelling ever could.

Andy flees to Nigel. He scolds, then takes pity on her. He rebuilds her in the _Runway_ image. Miranda is rendered speechless, if only for a moment.

Despite herself, Andy’s interest in the magazine grows. She learns to appreciate the hard work and passion that goes into its production and starts to understand and admire Miranda's standing in the world of fashion.

Their working relationship evolves. Miranda expects. Andy anticipates. They dance to an almost perfect rhythm. Then comes her epic mistake and the resultant punishment - obtain the unpublished Harry Potter manuscript.

When she reveals the unbound document, disdain is fired in her direction. It lasts until Miranda discovers that Andy has already delivered the impossible and the twins have their own copies of the book. What follows is a look not often seen on the editor’s face - baffled surprise.

In the thrall of overachievement, Andy feels delight and satisfaction. She chooses to ignore the trademark dismissal.

Ultimately, meeting this challenge seems to alter their relationship.

**********

The game becomes less about vexation and more about surprise.

Now she is always Andrea never Emily.

When they're alone, please and thank you are deliberate additions to Miranda’s instructions.

Handbags and coats are placed carefully on Andy’s desk. When the same items are required later in the day, Miranda waits patiently for their retrieval.

Shared elevator rides become routine rather than a torturous novelty.

She soon realises that instead of dreading Monday mornings, she wakes with a thrill at the thought of seeing her boss. It's a highly inconvenient development so she hides her feelings as best she can.

Seeing Miranda in full swing at the Gala is the point of no return. The poise. The power. It's pure intoxication.

When Stephen makes his drunken entrance, she quickly slips into problem solving mode. The silent appreciation from the other woman as Andy runs interference between Irv and him is a revelation. Vulnerability is no longer hidden by an impenetrable fortress.

They never speak of it, but something shifts. Miranda still maintains a distance, but more often Andy gets a glimpse of the woman herself, not the intimidating legend.

For this reason she can say no when Miranda brings up Paris. Yes, she may have proven herself more adept than Emily, but she refuses to be the one to steal her colleague’s dream. Despite her boss’s threat, Andy holds firm to her choice and hopes she hasn't sabotaged her future.

The _Runway_ team departs and Andy experiences a comparatively easy week, except for the random texts Miranda sends. Texts sent at perfectly reasonable times in Paris, but received at absurdly early hours in New York. No demands, just interesting observations. If Nate was still around, another lecture would ensue.

They all return from Paris and with them come rumours of the demise of Miranda's marriage.

The tabloids are merciless. ‘Snow Queen too cold to satisfy her husband’. ‘The Dragon Lady roasts another victim’. The truth is sacrificed on the altar of sensationalism.

Through it all, Miranda seems unaffected. Composed. An indestructible queen, effortlessly navigating the savage world of journalistic voyeurism.

Only once does Andy sense a crack in the armour. She returns to her desk in time to hear the end of a conversation. By Miranda's tone and words she knows it must be one of the twins.

“Try not to worry Bobbsey. The press will soon lose interest.”

She misses the rest of the conversation but hears the sad sigh at its conclusion.

**********

A week or so later, on a Friday night, the game ends.

Andy arrives at eleven. The house is quiet as she puts the dry cleaning away in the dedicated closet.

“Andrea. Come upstairs. Please.”

She shivers. It's an almost uncontrollable response to the unique way Miranda says her name. A response she tries her best to mask when there’s witnesses, but happily indulges in when there are no curious bystanders.

Andy moves towards the stairs, _The Book_ in hand. It's no longer a journey she takes with trepidation. Knowing she will be alone with Miranda, gratitude is her faithful companion.

On the second floor, she walks towards the only light on display and enters a hitherto unseen room. Miranda sits on a couch, still dressed in her work clothes. She holds up one hand for silence and continues to work on her laptop.

Andy takes the time to look around the room. Beside the couch, to Miranda's right, there's a little table. From that store on Madison. On the table there's a lamp from that shop next to the restaurant where Miranda dined with Donatella.

Hanging on the wall behind the editor are beautifully framed black and white photographs of the twins. One, a candid shot of them reading the illegally obtained Harry Potter book. The other features the girls standing side by side on a beach, grinning as they hold surfboards.

She completes her surveillance of the room and meets Miranda’s eyes. No words are exchanged as she walks across the room and places _The Book_ carefully on a coffee table.

The editor gestures to her computer screen and then pats the couch beside her. “I want to show you something.”

Andy makes her way to Miranda and sits on her left hand side, careful to maintain a respectable distance. She expects the other woman to highlight some scheduling conflict. Instead, the point of interest is a job advertisement. A junior position at The New York Mirror.

“It's been almost a year Andrea.”

“You want me to leave?”

Miranda sighs and looks at her. “No. I need you to leave. There's a difference.”

“I don't understand.”

“Don't you? Really, Andrea. I'm a little disappointed.”

She moves along the couch, giving herself some space. “You're disappointed? I'm the one being fired for no reason.”

The reply is calm and quiet as the other woman looks away. “I'd hardly say there's no reason.”

A sharp intake of breath is Andy's involuntary reaction, followed by a telltale lurch in her stomach. No matter how professional she's been, of course Miranda knows.

“I can explain…” Her words trail off as she notices a photo frame beside the lamp. It holds a piece of slightly wrinkled paper, blank except for five words in her own handwriting. ‘I'm smart. I learn fast.’ It's the last place she expects to see the mantra that kept her sane the first couple of weeks at _Runway_.

Feeling exposed, Andy forgets the topic at hand and immediately goes on the offensive. She points at the frame. “You've been snooping through my desk.”

Miranda remains unruffled by the accusation. “I wasn't snooping. I was simply looking for a pen one day and came across it.”

“When did you find it?” To Andy, the timing is crucial.

Their eyes meet again. “After Harry Potter.”

She lets out a sigh and feels herself calm at this disclosure.

“And you framed it because?”

“As a reminder.”

In terms of illumination the response is sorely lacking. “A reminder?”

“A reminder of the power of words.” Miranda reaches for the frame and places it on the couch between them. “They can harm or heal. I wanted to do less harm.”

Andy shakes her head. “But you don't do that with everyone.”

There's a weighty silence before Miranda responds. “You're right. I don't. I thought I'd start with someone I trust.”

“And you trust me?”

“You're in my house. In my favourite room. You were my preferred choice for Paris. Of course I trust you.”

Andy slides back along the couch and picks up the photo frame. She glances at it once more before reaching across Miranda to place it back on the table. The other woman's sharp intake of breath is music to her ears.

As she resettles herself on the couch, her right thigh brushes against Miranda.

“And yet you need me to leave.”

“Yes.”

Andy gazes around the room again. She’s smart, she does learn fast. But still she doubts her interpretation of this pattern. Some things are just too good to be true.

“Andrea, would you please look at me?”

She complies and swallows hard at the obvious emotion in Miranda's eyes. In the last year she's been privy to disdain, coldness, mild interest and occasional warmth. Tonight it's all admiration, heat and desire.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Wow.”

“Honestly, if that's the best you can do I'll have to write a new recommendation. Maybe a job at TV Guide would be a better fit.”

Andy smirks. The words are classic Priestly, but the teasing tone is a welcome change. She reaches for the laptop and places it on the coffee table.

“Wow is an exclamation expressing astonishment. For this occasion it is both succinct and completely appropriate.”

Miranda chuckles and runs a hand through her hair.

“You have a point.”

Andy grins for a few moments and then clears her throat. “I suppose we should talk about the divorce. The twins. My resignation.”

“Hmmm.”

“I don't really feel like talking.”

Miranda smiles and reaches for Andy's hand. “Neither do I.”

**********

A new game begins. One of discovery.

Andy discovers she likes being in control. To her surprise, Miranda enjoys relinquishing it even more.

As soon as Andy whispers in her ear everything she plans to do to her, the other woman begs her to begin.

At the office, Miranda's favourite word is no. In Andy's arms, it's all “yes, yes. God, yes.”

When she finally undresses her, there's a pause of appreciation. It's one of those rare times when reality eclipses the fantasy.

Until tonight, she's never heard a profanity pass the editor’s lips. Now the word fuck is part of a constant plea. “Fuck me, Andrea.”

It's a request she's happy to fulfil.

The taste and feel of Miranda is divine; an experience she wants to repeat over and over.

When the other woman first climaxes, Andy realises it's the only time she's ever heard her scream. She's determined that it won't be the last time.

Hours later, in Miranda’s bed, they lay side by side. Andy's exhausted. Completely sated.

“How was that?”

Miranda gives a contented sigh. “Wow.”

Andy giggles. “See, it's the perfect word for certain occasions.”

“Indeed it is.”

 

**********


	2. I Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily and Nigel aren't blind. They know what's going on. Or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total fluff.  
> First time really writing Nigel and Emily. Such fun characters to play with!

Nigel's five drinks in before he raises their favourite topic. Well, favourite is a stretch. It's more like the topic they both wished they'd never raised but can't resist examining outside the office. Gluttons for punishment, the both of them.

“Do you think they’ve realised yet?”

Emily snorts loudly, a completely unrefined habit that emerges when alcohol is flowing fast and free. Being a _Runway_ employee sometimes has its perks.

“That they want to shag each other senseless?”

“Yes.”

“No,” is the clipped response. “They're both oblivious while I’m forced to suffer in silence.”

“Poor Emily.”

“Sod off, Nigel. You have no idea of the horror I endure. Surrounded by sexual tension, yet never the cause of it.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Emily fixes him with a glare. “You know I completely blame you.”

“Oh, not this again.”

“Yes, again. It was the makeover, Nigel. That was the catalyst for my misery.”

He gives her a sympathetic pat on the hand. “Still, a little birdie told me about the interest of a certain Brazilian goddess….” He quirks an eyebrow at her, and downs the rest of his drink.

Emily perks up immediately, the issue of Miranda and Andy quickly forgotten.

“Do tell me more.”

**********

A month later they meet for a quick lunch. Ten minutes in, Emily launches into her latest lament.

She leans across the table and whispers. “Andy prances now, Nigel.”

“Prances, huh.”

“Yes. In and out of the office. All day. And Miranda watches her like she's sizing up her next meal.”

Nigel chokes on his white tea. Eventually he recovers and places the cup down on the table. A cloth napkin does little to fix the damage to his vest. He fixes Emily with a look. “She probably is.”

“Oh, God. Thanks for that visual.”

“You're welcome.”

He rises from his chair and puts out a hand for Emily. She takes it and rises with her usual poise.

He keeps his voice low. “Enough talk of Miranda and Six. Please tell me you've made a move on Serena.”

Emily waits until they've left the cafeteria before she responds.

“She's a colleague, Nigel. What am I supposed to do? Hit on her in _The Closet_?”

“Why not try prancing? I've heard it's the latest trend.”

Emily scoffs and hits him lightly on the arm.

“Mocking bastard.”

“Oh, you love it.”

**********

The next week Nigel calls her at home. Emily’s just finished her second glass of wine and is feeling no pain. The one positive thing about Andy's presence is that it now frees Emily from the torture of waiting for _The Book._

He wastes no time with small talk.

“You will never believe what happened today at the Phillip Lim preview.”

Emily's reply is pure snark. “Miranda smiled?”

“God, no. It was a catastrophe. One that I have to resolve of course.”

“Well, I'm out of guesses.”

“Six was allowed in the elevator with Miranda.”

“Bullshit.”

“I'm not kidding. Phillip’s assistant told me.”

Emily sighs and eyes the bottle of wine. “But she never lets anyone ride with her.”

“I know.”

“Miranda hates small talk and that building is five stories. How awkward would that have been?”

“I'm sure they found some way to pass the time.”

“And on that note, I'm hanging up now.”

“Good night, Emily.”

“No sweet dreams, prick.”

 

**********

A month later, Emily walks into his office and quietly closes the door. She slumps in a chair, and rests her head in her hands. It's the poor posture that tips him off to the seriousness of events.

“What's happened?”

Emily shakes her head and mumbles something unintelligible.

“Speak up.”

She straightens in the chair and looks directly into his eyes. “I caught them.”

“You caught who?”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Who do you think?”

“You mean Miranda and-”

Her hand shoots up in a desperate motion for him to stop.

Nigel ignores her discomfort and proceeds with glee. “Where? When?”

She sighs. “Miranda's office. Five minutes ago.”

“Oh my God.”

“I think it's more the work of the Devil.”

“I can't believe they did it at work.”

Emily groans. “I can't believe I have to go back there and pretend I know nothing!”

She gets up and starts pacing the room. “Honestly Nigel, I'm never going to get that image out of my head. Or the words. Jesus. My eyes and ears. Forever scarred.”

“Oh, it can't have been that bad. I think you forget exaggeration is your unofficial middle name.”

Emily walks over and whispers in his ear. When she pulls away she takes great delight in his pallor.

Nigel collapses in his chair. “Great, thanks for sharing the pain.”

She pats his shoulder. Solidarity under adversity is important after all.

“You're welcome old chap.”

**********

Miranda and Andy emerge from the executive bathroom together. Twenty minutes of pleasure cleaned up in five.

Andy notices the door to the office is ajar.

“Um, Miranda. Didn't you lock the door?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Relax, Andrea. Emily is not due back for five minutes and no one else dares to come here without an explicit invitation.”

Andy gestures at the mess on Miranda's desk. “Christ, can you imagine if she did stumble across this?”

“I hope you know CPR. Because that's the only outcome if Emily ever lays eyes on these…activities.”

“Exactly. So from now on, the door is always locked.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

A smile plays on Miranda’s lips. “Yes, Officer Sachs.”

Andy smirks as she places the police uniform in her oversized bag.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Always.”

**********


	3. Zugzwang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turned out, she was the biggest fool of all.
> 
> ******************************************

_Zugzwang (German for “compulsion to move”)_

_A situation in which the obligation to make a move in one’s turn_ _is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage_

 

Until Andrea she had no use for regret. Such an emotion was useless, felt only by self indulgent fools. Turned out, she was the biggest fool of all.

It started with the makeover.

In her head she’s blamed Nigel a hundred times for his stylistic meddling. Sleek hair, perfect makeup, clothes that accentuated Andrea’s abundant gifts. Raw potential unleashed and rendered radiant before Miranda's eyes.

After that, thoughts of her second assistant occupied far too much of her time.

At home, conversations with Stephen were hampered by the intrusive idea that her employee would never make such childish demands. Sex, when they had it, was disturbed by the insistent certainty that with Andrea it would be so much better.

Work became a balancing act, performed on the narrowest highwire. As Andrea encroached upon her heart, Miranda struggled not to show favouritism. She battled even more not to punish her assistant for the sheer audacity of making her care.

For the first time in her career she feared her professionalism would fail her. A fear that was heightened by the awareness that she was not alone in the emotional quagmire.

Admiration and desire shone from expressive brown eyes, a siren call Miranda fought hard to resist. Her destruction the end result if she faltered.

She flirted with danger, addicted to the anticipatory thrill of ‘what if.’

Alone in an elevator - ‘What if I pushed Andrea up against the wall?’

Before she left work - ‘What if I stayed back late, and it was just the two of us alone?’

For a known sadist, she played an accomplished game of self inflicted masochism.

It all came to a crashing halt in Paris.

She took her best team with her and naturally that included Andrea. She wondered afterwards if self sabotage was her intent.

Together in a Parisian hotel room, Miranda was devoid of her usual emotional armour and Andrea was there, so willing to make everything better.

“ _Is there anything else I can do to help?”_

Tormented by a clawing hunger to be convinced that she, Miranda Priestly, was worthy of comfort and love, a plea very nearly escaped -’Touch me, hold me, fuck me.’

Instead she reverted to the safety of cold distance.

“ _Yes. Your job.”_

Her vulnerability once more guarded by clear and insurmountable barriers.

The lines clearly drawn - an impersonal relationship. Boss, employee. That was all.

She was convinced it had worked.

And then Andrea rushed from the bed of Christian Thompson to warn her of impending betrayal. The desperation to avert disaster plainly evident on her assistant’s face.

It was the blow to her pride that compelled her to push Andrea away. It was the only move she could make.

Andrea as a threat to her personal equilibrium was one thing. The idea that her assistant needed to rescue her, an unforgivable insult.

Quiet words in a town car, her act of brutality witnessed by the historic streets of Paris.

The success of her plan left her bereft. A completely predictable result, and one she embraced.

With Andrea gone she could remain the Miranda Priestly everyone feared. Her formidable reputation was unassailable. Her heart unchallenged by a trustworthy soul.

She was safe and secure.

It was not enough. It was never enough.

***********


End file.
